


The Wish Your Heart Makes

by Sue Corkill (mscorkill)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscorkill/pseuds/Sue%20Corkill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes death can lead to life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wish Your Heart Makes

**Author's Note:**

> Five hanky warning for this one (aka the crying fic).
> 
> Originally posted March 2007.

THE WISH YOUR HEART MAKES

Doctor Janet Fraiser scanned the list of her inpatients, mentally checking off her visits with Tobiassen and Crnkovich, both housed in the Med-Surg Ward of the Academy Hospital, both doing well and ready for discharge. She’d finished morning rounds in all her usual wards and now it was time to visit her last patient. It was with a heavy heart that she bypassed the elevator and walked up the one flight to the third floor. _There was a good reason_ , she thought sadly, _for why she had gone into adult medicine and not pediatrics._

Exiting into the third floor lobby, Janet caught a brief glimpse of a familiar figure getting into the elevator, his height and silver hair too distinctive to be anybody but Colonel O’Neill. He didn’t see her, so she didn’t say anything, merely making a mental notation of his presence and continued with her rounds; heading down the hallway and pushing through the double doors into the next unit, making her way to the nurse’s station.

“Doctor Fraiser.” Captain Stebbins, the day shift charge nurse, handed her a chart and Janet flipped through it, checking her patient’s vitals and recent lab work.

“How’s our boy today?” Janet asked, looking up from the dismal numbers on the complete blood count.

“As well as can be expected,” Stebbins replied, noncommittally. “He’s scheduled for chemo at 1300.”

“Thanks.” Fraiser handed back the chart. “I won’t be long.” She walked down the hallway, past the playroom and treatment rooms, the sights and sounds of the hospital dayshift filling the corridor. It was quieter at the end of the hallway and she paused briefly at the window that looked into 364. He lay curled up in the bed, his back to the window and Janet knew he’d had a rough night. 

When he’d first been admitted, he would have been watching TV, playing his Game Boy or reading. But as the weeks had worn on and his strength had faded, those occasions grew fewer and fewer. Entering the anteroom, she washed up and donned the requisite gown and gloves before entering his room. Classical music played quietly from the CD player and she smiled, somehow his choice in music always surprised her.

“Hey,” she said softly, but loud enough to be heard over the music. And evidently he hadn’t been sleeping, because he slowly shifted, ever careful of the numerous IVs trailing into him, and rolled over at the sound of her voice.

“Hey, Doc.” He opened his eyes and smiled faintly. 

“Rough night?” she asked, noting the darker than usual shadows under his dull eyes, their characteristic sparkle missing, his face pale and drawn. There was also a McDonald’s bag, she saw, sitting on the night stand and what could only be a cup of coffee sitting next to it.

He grimaced. “The usual, actually.”

She nodded, gesturing toward the remnants of the fast food. “How was breakfast?”

He smiled faintly. “Can’t beat the sausage biscuit and hash browns, Doc.”

“Did you eat any of it?”

“Some,” he admitted. “Not really too hungry though.”

Janet nodded, getting down to business then. “Your white blood count is still low, but that’s to be expected. I’m going to talk to Clemmons,” she said, referring to his oncologist. “Your hematocrit is dropping and so are your platelets. You might benefit from a transfusion or at least some epoetin.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” 

“All right, then,” she said, smiling as cheerfully as she could, his meek compliance alarming her more than anything else about his condition. “I’ll stop by and see you this evening before I go home.” She was almost to the door when he called her name.

“Janet?”

She stopped and turned around, he was sitting up in the bed and he had that determined look on his face. “Did you ask her?”

Her eyes softened and she nodded. “I sent her an email this morning, asking her to stop by tonight if she could.”

A look of tired satisfaction filled his face and he closed his eyes, curling back up on his side. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmured. “I owe you one.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam pulled into the visitor’s parking lot at the Academy Hospital and easily found a parking place not too far from the main entrance. It was early evening, so she wasn’t too surprised to find the parking lot relatively empty; the clinics were all closed for the day and the hospital would be gearing down into evening mode. Getting out of the car, she pulled her coat tighter against the chill wind, the icy rain still working its way down the back of her neck. All she really wanted to do was to get home before the light rain turned into sleet or freezing drizzle, so she hoped whatever Janet wanted her for wouldn’t take long.

She had puzzled over the doctor’s cryptic email all day. _“Sam, do me a favor and meet me at my office at the Academy Hospital when you get off duty. Have me paged if you can’t make it.”_ Sam figured it had something to do with Cassie, but it was still an unusual enough request that she had been slightly worried all day. She had briefly contemplated paging Janet just to find out what it was about, but she knew her friend was busy in the clinic and didn’t want to pull her away from her patients, so it had just simmered in the back of her mind for the rest of the day.

The hospital lobby was quiet; the woman at the information desk barely gave her a second glance when she passed by. Bypassing the hallway that led into the hospital proper, Sam went through the double doors that led into the Clinic area. It was quiet; Sam nodded at the cleaning woman tidying up the waiting room and continued on down to the end of the hall. The double doors to Janet’s office were closed, but a light was still on, so after knocking, Sam opened the door.

“Sam.” Janet sat at her desk, several closed and one open folder in front of her. “I was just beginning to wonder if you were going to make it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shifting restlessly under her friend’s quiet scrutiny. “I’m a little later than usual, but Hammond wanted the latest report on that new mineral SG-19 found on…but you don’t really want to hear that,” Sam finished. Janet almost smiled and Sam decided she was tired of waiting. “What’s going on, Janet? Is there something wrong with Cassie?”

Janet shook her head. “No,” she replied firmly. “Cassie is fine. There’s…just someone who wants to see you.”

Sam’s brow wrinkled. “Who? A patient?”

Janet nodded; closing the folder on her desk and standing, she crossed the room and grabbed her lab coat from a hook by the door. “Come with me,” she said, opening the door and walking rapidly down the hall.

“Janet! Wait!” Sam called, hurrying after the doctor. “What’s the big mystery?” she asked when she caught up to her, having to walk surprisingly fast to keep up with the shorter woman.

“Sam,” she said, stopping at the elevator. “I just…” she shook her head, punching the up button. “Just come with me.”

Sam frowned, but Janet ignored her and before the silence got too uncomfortable, the elevator arrived. Once inside, Janet pushed the button for the third floor and both women silently watched the numbers light up. Sam knew her friend could be stubborn, but the mystery and drama she currently exhibited was more Cassie’s style. 

When the elevator doors opened, Janet exited without a word, walking briskly down the hall. Sam followed her at a slower pace and then she slowed down even more when she saw Janet waiting by a brightly colored door with signage that proclaimed the Pediatric Ward. “What’s going on, Jan?” she demanded, keeping her voice low and ignoring the curious looks of the few staff members that passed by.

Her friend sighed and Sam waited impatiently until she finally spoke. “Just…trust me, Sam, okay?”

Sam gazed levelly at her friend, noting for the first time the air of sadness that surrounded Janet; her eyes were shadowed, their normal sparkle missing and she hadn’t really smiled once since Sam had arrived. An entire flock of butterflies started fluttering wildly in her stomach and the feeling of dread she’d successfully suppressed all day re-emerged full force. Maybe she was being too pessimistic, but given Janet’s reticence, Sam couldn’t imagine that anything good was behind those cheerful doors.

“All right,” Sam finally said. 

The look of gratitude that flashed over Janet’s face made Sam feel guilty for being so bitchy; she’d find out what was going on soon enough, she rationalized, when Janet pushed open the door. Sam automatically followed, noting the mostly successful attempt to minimize the whole hospital ‘atmosphere’. The walls were painted in bright colors with decorative murals; the staff also wore brightly colored scrubs, making the whole ward seem a little less threatening. 

Glancing into the rooms they passed, Sam saw children of various ages, most with their parents, some looking obviously ill with IV’s and other tubes flowing in and out of them while others looked like they belonged on the playground and not in a hospital. 

Sam stood a few feet away when Janet stopped briefly at the nurses’ station. “I’ll be down in 364.” 

The male nurse, who sported a NASCAR scrub top, nodded. “He’s been asleep. Today’s chemo session took a lot out of him.”

 _A boy,_ Sam thought, the butterflies all of a sudden replaced by a giant fist that wrapped around her heart and squeezed so tight she couldn’t breathe. _We’re going to see a boy with cancer._

“We won’t stay long.” Janet started walking again and looked back her. “Come on, Sam,” she said, her voice gentle.

Sam followed her. She had come this far, she couldn’t turn and run now, though every instinct she possessed demanded that she leave before her unwanted suspicion was confirmed; she could only think of one boy that Janet Fraiser, Chief Medical Officer of the SGC, would be consulted on. 

The long hallway suddenly became too short and then they were outside Room 364. A black and white placard on the door proclaimed _Protective Isolation_ and there appeared to be a small anteroom that opened into the actual patient room there. There was also a large window that looked from the hallway into the room; the blinds that would provide any necessary privacy were open.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, searching for the courage that had deserted her, and realizing there was no way to prepare for what she was about to see, she looked through the window. And even though she half-expected it, it was still a shock to see him lying there. His eyes were closed, his skin as pale as the sheet that covered him and she wondered for one wild moment if he was dead, until she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest. 

Sam counted at least two IV’s running into him, one into his arm and the second disappearing under the neck of his hospital pajamas. And to add insult to injury, he was bald; she couldn’t tell if his head had been shaved or if he’d lost it from the chemotherapy and her heart ached for what he was going through. 

“Oh god, Janet,” she murmured, striving to keep her voice from breaking and failing miserably. “What’s wrong with him?”

Sam felt the comforting warmth of Janet’s arm around her waist and the Doctor started talking. “He has a form of acute leukemia, incredibly virulent and invasive. We’ve tried all the usual treatments and nothing is effective for very long. It seems that whatever Thor did to change his DNA is failing.”

“We can call Thor, get him to fix it—”

“We already have, there’s nothing he can do.”

“What about a bone marrow transplant?” She knew those were sometimes used for people with leukemia.

Janet shook her head. “We tried that too, but it was unsuccessful.”

Sam turned on her then, not willing to accept there wasn’t a way to help him. “Well, then get Colonel O’Neill’s bone marrow! It should be a perfect match!”

“Sam…honey…” Janet’s eyes were full of sympathy and concern. “Colonel O’Neill was the donor.”

Taking a deep breath, Sam tried to get her careening emotions under control and looked back through the window at the sleeping boy, she’d worry about the Colonel’s involvement later. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked tiredly.

“He wants to see you, Sam.”

“No, Janet,” she said, turning back towards Janet, her eyes filled with panic. “I can’t, I won’t know what to say—”

“You don’t have to say anything, honey. Just be his friend.”

She looked back through the window. _Be his friend…_ What kind of woman was she, what kind of friend? She was a coward, too scared to let down her carefully constructed walls and visit a dying friend? “All right,” she said, keeping her voice firm to convince both Janet and herself. “What do I need to do?” she asked, gesturing at the sign on the door.

“I’ll show you,” Janet replied, opening the door.

Ten minutes later Sam had followed Janet’s lead and washed her hands longer and harder than she ever had in her entire life and donned a yellow paper gown over her street clothes. 

“Here,” Janet—who was similarly attired—said, handing her a pair of pale green disposable gloves. “I think you’re probably a small.” Sam took them and after trying to figure out if there was a right or left, decided it didn’t seem to matter and pulled them on. 

“We don’t need masks or anything?” Sam asked, vague images of television medical shows and the extensive isolation procedures at the SGC making her wonder if they were taking enough precautions.

“Only if either of us had an upper respiratory infection. This is all to protect him from any unnecessary outside microbes, not to protect us from him.” Janet turned the handle on the door that led from the anteroom into the patient room. “Ready?”

Sam wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for what was to come next; she’d rather be anywhere else, up to and including Anubis’ mother ship, but she nodded and followed Janet into the austere room. She wasn’t sure what to do, so she hung back and watched Janet as she approached the bed. The doctor’s face softened and she gently touched his shoulder. “Jon?”

Sam had seen it many times before, the kind and comforting smile that filled the doctor’s face, making you believe that everything was going to be okay and when Jon opened his eyes and looked up and saw Fraiser’s gentle smile, she wondered if he still hoped that maybe this time, it was going to be different.

“Hey,” Janet said softly. “I’ve brought someone to see you.”

“Hi Jon.”

His eyes flew to her and her heart shattered into a million tiny pieces at the look of gratitude that filled his pale face. “Sam.” His voice was low and weak and she summoned a smile, stepping closer to the bed when he held out his hand. 

“Hey,” she murmured, slipping her gloved hand into his. She heard the door to the anteroom open and close and knew Janet had left, her mission accomplished. 

“I’m glad you came.”

“Jon…I didn’t know, I’m so sorry.” She was floundering; what did you say to a man dying in the body of a teen-age boy?

“It’s okay, Sam. This isn’t exactly the reunion scene I had imagined either.” His lips quirked into that self-deprecating half smile she was so familiar with and she couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t think I want to know about your prurient fantasies,” she said, taking a chance and teasing him. 

He laughed then, feeble and weak as it was. “It’s a good thing I’ve been back in high school, because I actually know what prurient means. And I’ll have you know, my fantasies are totally clean and wholesome.”

“Uh huh,” she said, starting to feel a little more relaxed. Releasing his hand, she pulled the one chair in the room closer to the bed and sat down. He immediately reached for her hand again. “How do you feel?” she asked, lightly rubbing her thumb over the back of it; the skin was almost translucent and he felt so frail.

“Like crap.”

She made a soft sound of distress. “Is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head, his dark eyes shadowed. “I didn’t ask you to come see me so you could feel sorry for me, Sam. When Thor changed my DNA, tried to reverse Loki’s screw-up, I thought I’d been given a second chance on life. Maybe I could do some things different this time, you know?”

She nodded. When it at all happened, she had often wondered herself what she would do if she had been in the same situation, a younger version of herself, starting over again. 

“But in one of the greater ironies of the galaxy, I had to endure six months of high school and I’m still going to die.”

“Jon,” she murmured. She didn’t like the feeling of helplessness that filled her when faced with a problem that she couldn’t solve. He’d always depended on her to find the solution to whatever dire situation they were in and this time she would fail him.

“It’s okay, Sam. Really. It’s not like I haven’t faced my own death before.” He grimaced slightly and shifted, turning slowly onto his side and facing her. “I guess I always figure I’d go out in a blaze of gunfire or C4.” He grinned in typical O’Neill fashion. “Or maybe a nuke.”

She smiled, like she was sure he intended, but he still he hadn’t told her why he’d asked to see her. “Why did you want to see me?”

His hand gripped hers a bit more tightly. “I…aw, crap,” he swore, pulling his hand from hers and rolling back onto his back, putting his arm over his eyes. “I don’t know how to say this without it sounding all weird and perverted.”

She touched his shoulder. “Just say it.” He moved his arm and opened his eyes, the sadness and longing in them a poignant reminder that even though he had the body of a seventeen year old, she had shared more with him than she had with any other man. 

“He loves you.” 

Her breath caught and she found she couldn’t look away, the longing and sadness in his eyes shredding her already tattered emotions. She couldn’t tell the other Jack O’Neill, but she could tell this one. 

“I know.” Rising up slightly, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, his skin cool and dry beneath her lips. “I love him,” she whispered in his ear. 

She felt him move and then his arms closed tightly around her. She let him hold her close, fighting back the tears brought on by the frail strength of his arms. Her eyes were moist and when he released her, she wiped surreptitiously at them; thankful when he ignored it. There really wasn’t anything else to say, the look of tired satisfaction on his face told her just how ill and exhausted he really was. Standing up, she put the chair back where she’d found it and turned towards the door. 

“Sam?”

“Yes?” she asked, turning to look back at him. 

“Tell the jerk.”

It sounded suspiciously like an order and her lips curved in a half smile before the seriousness of his request hit her. He knew, just as well as she did, all the obstacles that stood between her and Jack, yet he could still tell her to do something they had both agreed was best locked away and ignored. “I’ll think about it,” she answered. By the disappointed look on his face, she knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was the only answer she could give him.

“You know, Carter,” she heard him call as the door closed behind her. “Sometimes you think too much.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The corridor lights dimmed and on schedule, Jon heard movement in the anteroom and hit the mute on the Letterman monologue that he’d barely been listening to just as the door opened.

“So how’s my favorite homeboy tonight?”

Jaclyn, **his** favorite of all the night nurses, stood at the foot of his bed, smiling at him. She mothered him unmercifully, but she also didn’t take any shit from him, or anyone else for that matter. And she always told it to him straight, something he had come to appreciate. He summoned up a smile and briefly considered lying to her, but didn’t bother, she’d see through it anyway. “Not so good tonight,” he confessed.

Her practiced eyes swept over him and she made a soothing sound. “Well, just let me check you out, Jon. And then you can tell me all about it.” The back of her hand was cool on his hot forehead when she touched him. “How long have you had this fever?” she demanded.

“Don’t know,” he murmured. He’d felt so rotten for so long now, it was sometimes hard to keep things straight. She was all business then while she checked his various lines, took his blood pressure, listened to his heart and lungs and finally took his temperature.

“How do I check out tonight?” he asked, after she removed the thermometer from his mouth.

“Your temperature is up, your blood pressure is down, your heart rate is too fast and there are crackles in the bases.” She gave him a stern look. “You having trouble breathing?”

“No,” he answered honestly, not anymore than usual anyway. “I’m just so tired.”

“I know, baby. Let me get something for that fever and something to help you sleep?”

He nodded. He was exhausted and sleep was always elusive, and he figured it might be even more so after his earlier visitor. Jaclyn wasn’t gone long, returning with several pills and a fresh pitcher of ice water.

“Drink the whole glass,” she instructed when he only swallowed enough to get the pills down.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, and then added with just the faintest hint of complaint. “I’ll just have to get up in the middle of the night to pee.”

“You sound like an old man,” she chided him, taking the glass when it was empty and filling it up again, setting it within reach on the over bed table.

“Let’s get you more comfortable.” She bustled around the room, gathering everything together. It was a familiar routine and Jon felt himself start to relax. She turned off the TV and glanced at him. “Vivaldi?” He nodded and she slipped a CD into the small player on the window ledge, the soft sound of violins filling the room.

“I hear you had a visitor this evening,” she commented while straightening out his sheets. He obediently lifted his head when she took his pillow, putting a fresh pillow case on. It was only since he’d been sick and spent so much time in the hospital that he’d come to appreciate the simpler comforts of life, like fresh, cool sheets against his fevered skin. 

“Yeah, an old friend.” He didn’t elaborate, he wasn’t sure what else he could say without it sounding…well…prurient.

Jaclyn chuckled. “I hear she was a hot blonde. Roll over,” she instructed. 

Jon smiled and rolled slowly onto his side, it seemed like every little movement hurt anymore. “Who told you that?” he asked. Jaclyn undid the ties on his pajama top, the lotion was cold on his back, but it felt good, as did her gloved hands as she massaged it into his dry skin.

“Tony,” she chuckled, naming the evening charge nurse. “He does have an eye for the women. And him, happily married with five kids!”

Jon let his thoughts drift while Jaclyn talked, only half listening to her easy commentary on what was going on in the ‘outside’ world. Jon had to agree with her that Tony would definitely find Sam attractive; but then most men did, himself included. 

He was surprised Sam had come to see him. Pleased, but surprised. He also felt slightly guilty, but what the hell, he was dying. It was funny, he mused, how death brought life into perspective. He just hoped she’d do as he’d asked and tell the jerk she loved him because for some reason he couldn’t bear the thought of a second Jonathan ‘Jack’ O’Neill losing the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“There you go,” she said, running her hands in one final sweep up his back and once more fastening his pajama top.

“Thanks, Jaclyn,” he said sleepily. For once he didn’t mind how she fussed over him, tucking the sheets around him, making sure there weren’t any wrinkles, that he was warm and comfortable as was possible these days. All too soon though, she dimmed the lights and before she could leave he asked, “Stay for awhile?”

Her dark eyes softened and she said, “Sure, baby.” Pulling the chair over to the bed, she sat down.

He closed his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position. “It makes it easier, you know,” he whispered, “when somebody’s here.”

“I know baby, I know.” He heard a soft rustle, then the soothing touch of her hand—minus the customary glove—gently stroking his forehead. ‘I’ll stay right here until you’re asleep,” she murmured. “Sweet dreams, baby boy.”

Jon smiled faintly, not at all insulted by her endearment, and started to drift off into that mysterious state between waking and sleeping. It was funny, maybe it was just the medicine, but he didn’t ache so much now, and after seeing Sam, he felt curiously at peace. It didn’t take long before the music and Jaclyn’s tender touch worked their magic. Jon drifted off to sleep, leaving his sickbed behind and dreaming that he once more flew through the stars with Sam by his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam barely glanced in the utilitarian mirror in the women’s bathroom on Level Nineteen. She knew she looked awful, she didn’t need the mirror to remind her that she had dark shadows under her eyes, the result of a long and sleepless night. She hadn’t thought she’d ever see Jon again—she found she couldn’t think of him as ‘the clone’ anymore; in fact, she hadn’t thought about him once since she’d last seen him, months earlier during their last debriefing after the Colonel had been returned.

It didn’t settle well with her now, that she had so conveniently put him out of her mind. It seemed cold…it seemed like the kind of thing some other person would do, not her. But she had done it—and very easily. Rationally she knew that all of them had done the only thing possible in the situation, and god knows, she could barely manage to handle her feelings for the adult Jack O’Neill, she didn’t even want to think about how she would have managed a…relationship, friendship or whatever, with a teen-aged version. But apparently he was all she could think of now.

The thought of him in the hospital, all alone and dying, broke her heart. She couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than being cut off from everyone and everything you had ever known and then to find out that you were dying on top of it all. It suddenly didn’t matter that he was a clone, she knew she’d never be able to live with herself if she didn’t reach out to him during his final days. And it was that decision that drove her to Fraiser’s office as soon as she’d heard SG-15 had been cleared after their precipitous return. 

Bypassing the elevator for the stairs, she jogged up the two flights, forced to slow her pace once she reached the always busy infirmary level. It was surprisingly quiet in the infirmary, though Sam could see the remnants of SG-15’s hot return. “Doctor Fraiser?” she asked one of the orderlies stripping sheets off one of the beds.

“In her office, ma’am.”

Sam nodded and made her way to the back of the infirmary and down the short hall to Fraiser’s office. “Janet?” She knocked on the half-open door and when it swung the rest of the way open, she stepped into the room. Janet stood in the corner, her back to the door. 

“Janet?” she repeated, stepping further into the room. “I want to start visiting Jon,” she blurted out, before her courage could desert her. “I can help him keep up with his school work or just…” Sam’s voice trailed off when Janet finally turned around, her eyes suspiciously pink and a tissue in her hand. “What’s wrong?” Sam whispered, that fist closing around her heart again.

“He died, early this morning.”

“No, no…don’t tell me that, Janet.”

Janet sniffed, dabbing at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. He’d been living on borrowed time since the beginning.”

Sam sank down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, feeling weak and shaky. “That doesn’t make it any better,” she murmured. “Did he…” she looked at Janet, her face stricken. “Was it painful?”

Janet shook her head emphatically. “No, no…he went quietly, in his sleep.” 

“I want to go to his funeral,” Sam said, firmly pushing aside the morbid thought that even now his body was probably being dissected in some lab somewhere. She could hear the echo of her father’s voice from when her mother died: _“The body is just an empty shell, Sam. Your mother’s spirit is gone on to heaven.”_ She wasn’t sure she believed in heaven anymore, but she had to believe that his heart and soul, his spirit had found peace.

“I’ll find out what the arrangements are,” Janet said. “I know he was to be cremated, so there will only be a memorial.”

“What about the Colonel?” Sam asked, still trying to puzzle his role in the whole bizarre situation.

“I need to tell him.”

Sam briefly contemplated the crazy idea of offering to tell him, but when she remembered his response to Daniel’s ‘death’ a few years earlier, or maybe his lack of response and she decided she wasn’t going to set herself up for a repeat of that situation. She liked to think she was a one-trial learner and he could deal—or not deal—with his clone’s death however he chose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Through a stroke of luck, fate or maybe just fortuitous timing, the memorial service was a little over a week later, on a Saturday morning. And as Sam pulled up to the mortuary, she understood why. The parking lot and grounds were teaming with kids and various adults. Small groups huddled together, talking, some of them crying; there was a group of boys all wearing hockey jerseys, but one thing was evident, all of them were mourning. 

Sam felt some of the disquiet that had plagued her all week start to fade. She had somehow imagined Jon to be all alone and isolated, but by the sheer number of people present, she was reassured that he hadn’t been a social outcast—at least as far as the student body of Mitchell High School was concerned. 

The parking lot was already full, so Sam ended up parking a block or so away and walking back to the funeral home. It was a mild day for early March, the wind off the mountains was still cool though and she was glad she had on her long leather coat. Since it wasn’t a military funeral, she’d foregone her dress uniform for a dark skirt and sweater which had the added benefit that she blended in with the other mourners. Slipping into the building and through the crowded foyer, she joined the slowly moving queue down the center aisle. 

The front of the chapel was awash in flowers, an alter sat where the coffin would normally rest and while she was too far away to make out the details of the two pictures displayed on it, she knew they would be of Jon. As she shuffled along, waiting her turn to approach the alter, she wondered which of the floral displays was hers. She hadn’t specified any particular flowers when she’d talked with the florist, but she hoped maybe it was the one sitting on the alter, a brilliant bouquet of white mums, blue delphinium and red carnations and gladiolus. 

Sam waited patiently while the three teen-aged girls in front of her cried at the altar; the dark-haired girl in the middle sobbed and clung to the other two, appearing to be almost in a state of collapse before her two friends managed to pull her away, still sobbing. Sam schooled her features to remain somber, though she couldn’t help but imagine the pithy comment Jon would have made at the girl’s dramatic display. And then it was her turn and she slowly approached the alter, feeling an unexpected surge of empathy for the girl who had been crying.

There were two pictures of him, both obviously school pictures; one of him in his hockey uniform, replete with skates and stick, posed on the ice. His stance was casual, like he felt right at home on the ice and his lips were quirked in that half smile she recognized so well. The other picture was the more traditional school picture pose, but he still managed to radiate a confidence that was far beyond his years. Sam wondered yet again how he had done it, how Jack O’Neill had gone from being a not-quite fifty-something Air Force colonel to being Jon O’Neill, teen-aged boy. 

She couldn’t even begin to imagine…didn’t even want to imagine what it must’ve been like for him. Because when she did, she started to cry and she was tired of crying. She wanted to salute, but settled for a brief nod and softly murmured prayer, before turning away from the alter and scanning the crowded pews for an empty spot. And it was then that she saw him; standing just inside the chapel door, looking as uncomfortable as she suddenly felt. He was dressed in black, like the majority of the men present, but he stood apart from the rest of them, his silver hair a stark contrast to the unrelieved black and gleaming in the soft light.

His eyes met hers and she quickly looked away, studiously ignoring him as she made her way up the outside aisle to a pew that still had a few empty spots on the end. Just as she sat down the minister walked to the lectern and there was a quiet flurry of activity while everyone still standing found a place to sit. Sam supposed it was inevitable that the Colonel made his way down to her row and squeezed past the other occupants and then past her, forcing her to make room for him. 

It took all her willpower to concentrate on the words of the service, his presence beside her almost suffocating her. His thigh was pressed up against hers, burning her through her clothing and even through all the perfume and other various scents, she could still smell him; hear him breathing over the restless movement of the mourners and the soothing voice of the minister as he spoke. 

Sam tried to think only of Jon, how she’d last seen him, so ill and pale but every time she saw his face it melted Jack’s face and he was the one sick and dying and there was still nothing she could do to stop it. She doggedly focused on the happenings in the front of the chapel, smiling briefly when the hockey coach delivered his eulogy, praising Jon’s determination and loyalty to his team mates and then fumbling in her pocket for a tissue when one of Jon’s team mates delivered a brief, yet moving eulogy for his friend.

There was a pause in the service and a group of students assembled in the front of the chapel. One of the girls blew a note on a pitch pipe and the first strains of Amazing Grace swelled through the room. Sam didn’t try to stop her silent flow of tears then, not sure if she was crying for the young man who had died or for the older man sitting next to her. She wished it didn’t seem so natural when the Colonel’s large hand closed tightly over one of hers, their fingers entwining, because there was no way she could ever convince herself that it was merely a gesture of human comfort. There was too much between them…but she didn’t pull her hand away.

It didn’t help that during the days since Jon’s death she had thought of little else but her non-relationship with the Colonel. And she’d been forced to acknowledge that a good part of her grief and depression over Jon’s death wasn’t over the death of the boy but merely an extension of her feelings for the Colonel. And she had wondered almost obsessively if she possessed the courage to do as Jon suggested and tell him that she loved him.

Lost in her thoughts, the rest of the service passed in a blur, the final prayer and benediction barely registering. When everyone around her stood up, so did she and found herself inching her way slowly to the center aisle, the Colonel right behind her. Once they were out in the aisle, he stayed right beside her, his hand warm in the small of her back as they moved slowly forward with the rest of the departing mourners. 

It had been a mistake to come to the funeral, she thought tiredly, once she was out of the chapel and weaving her way through the small groups of people lingering in the foyer, carefully making for the door with the Colonel right on her heels. And then he was suddenly in front of her, opening the door for her and she walked silently past him. 

The sun shone brightly and she could almost catch the scent of spring in the air. She started down the front walk, heading toward her car and not really caring whether he followed her or not when she felt his hand on her arm. She stopped and turned, looking at him for the first time since the funeral started. He had those damn reflective sunglasses on and she couldn’t see his eyes. 

“Want to go get a drink or something?” He sounded awkward and stilted. “O’Malley’s isn’t too far,” he offered.

A drink sounded good, even though it wasn’t even noon, but alcohol would only be a temporary panacea. She didn’t want a drink, she didn’t want lunch or dinner or anything in between. She couldn’t get Jon’s almost confession of love out of her mind and she was tired of settling for almost and unspoken promises of some day. Jon’s unexpected return into her life and his death had only resurrected everything she had ever dreamed and wanted regarding Jack. 

She wanted him and she needed to know if he wanted her as well. “Yeah…sounds good. But let’s go to my place, its closer.”

His sunglasses hid his expression, but she had no trouble sensing the subtle tension that filled him. He didn’t say anything for a long moment and she almost retracted the invitation when he said, “Sure, why not.”

“Good,” she nodded, a queasy combination of terror and anticipation filling her. “You know how to get there?” When he nodded in reply she summoned up a smile. “See you there,” she replied briskly. Her smile never wavered and she waited until he walked away before letting out a shaky breath and heading to her car. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack prowled Carter’s living room restlessly, wondering for not the first time since he’d agreed to her suggestion that they go to her house for a post-funeral drink, what the hell he’d been thinking. To say he had been shocked to see her at the memorial service would be an understatement. He hadn’t realized she’d known about Jon’s death, or that it would even matter to her that he was gone. Her tears at the service had unnerved him, his cool, competent and collected major didn’t cry—and she especially didn’t cry over him. And yes, while he knew she hadn’t technically been crying over ‘him’, as far as he was concerned, he couldn’t see the difference.

Coming to her house was a huge breach in the in the unspoken rules that governed their relationship. In fact, her was pretty sure ‘Do not go to Carter’s house alone with her’ was number one, followed by number two which was ‘Do not take advantage of a grieving Carter while alone with her at her house’. He peered around the corner into the hall that led into the kitchen. _Where the hell was she? How long did it take to pour a drink, for god’s sake?_

“Carter?” he called, stepping out into the hallway.

“Yeah,” she appeared from the front of the house, barefoot and wearing jeans and a navy blue sweater now instead of the skirt she’d had on at the memorial. He thought she might have gone to change and he was right. “Sorry,” she apologized with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, brushing past him and going into the kitchen. She opened a cupboard and then she paused, looking back at him. “Scotch?”

He nodded, watching as she took down two glasses and set them on the counter. She worked quietly and efficiently, getting ice out of the fridge and putting two cubes in each glass. It was funny, he usually didn’t have any trouble reading her moods, but she was a mystery to him today. 

“I didn’t expect to see you at the funeral,” he commented casually. She walked past him, glasses in hand, and he followed her into the living room. He took the glass she handed him and took a swallow, the liquid a pleasant burn down his throat. 

Sam curled up on the sofa and took a sip of her Scotch before answering. “I could say the same for you.”

Jack shrugged. “It seemed the least I could do.”

“Janet told me what you did, giving him the bone marrow transplant.” Her eyes narrowed and he tried not to shift restlessly while she studied him. “It was that week you took off last month, to go to your cabin, wasn’t it? I read up on it, you know. It must’ve been painful.”

“I didn’t do anything special,” he commented. “Don’t make me a hero over this.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said softly. “I know who the real hero is here.”

Jack finished the last of his scotch and Sam slowly uncurled from her position on the sofa and padded out of the room. When she returned moments later, she had the bottle with her. Jack held out his glass and she smiled, pouring in another couple of fingers of the amber liquid. She didn’t refill her glass, he noticed, simply resumed her former position on the sofa.

“What’s really going on here, Sam?” In the intimacy of her living room and the aftermath of the memorial service, her name slipped far too easily off his lips and when she blinked in surprise, he mentally added a number three to his ‘don’t do with Carter list’. Thinking of her by her first name was bad enough but to actually slip up and call her by anything other than ‘Carter’ was suicide.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a simple question,” he commented. Sitting down in the over-stuffed chair opposite the sofa, he settled back and waited.

“And there’s a simple answer,” she said. She swung her legs over the side of the sofa and tipped back the rest of her scotch before standing up. Her eyes were dark and serious and when she slowly crossed the room to him, Jack knew he’d should have followed his rules regarding being alone with Carter. Before he knew what she intended and could have stopped her, she swung one long leg over his and knelt over him, settling lightly on his lap. 

She rested her hands on his shoulders and he should have pushed her away, dumped her on the floor and walked out of her house without a backward look, but he didn’t. Instead he blindly set his glass of Scotch down on the end table, thankful when it didn’t go crashing to the floor and gripped the arms of the chair because if he didn’t hold onto something, he’d have his hands all over her. Her lips curved in a knowing smile and she leaned into him; her cheek brushed his and she whispered in his ear. “I love you.”

Jack jerked back in surprise, his head hitting the wall with a soft thud and then he felt her cool hands framing his face and her mouth descended to his. The impact of her confession disappeared in the lust that swamped him with the unexpected caress. His hands tightened on the chair arms and he had vague thoughts of trying to resist, but her lips were soft and persuasive and when her tongue traced his lower lip, he was lost. 

Releasing his convulsive grip on the chair, Jack cradled her face with his hands and answered the demand in her kiss. She tasted sweet and wild and even when he sensed the growing desperation behind her kiss, he ruthlessly ignored it. Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, he continued to kiss her while his other hand worked its way under her sweater to the small of her back. Her skin was smooth and hot and he pressed her closer, groaning when she settled more heavily against him, rubbing against his growing erection.

He was rapidly approaching flashpoint and rule number two disappeared in the white hot passion engulfing him. Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter that they’d just returned from a memorial service for his clone and that he couldn’t quite be sure that this wasn’t merely an attempt to bury her grief in the oblivion of sex and, when her nails raked through the short hairs at his nape, he wasn’t sure he would care even if it was. 

Her mouth left his and traveled moistly along his jaw at the same time as one of her hands worked its way between them and fumbled with the button on his slacks, and god help him, he realized the reasons why she had come to him didn’t matter, because he’d take her any way he could. When he felt the zipper on his slacks give way, he somehow found the presence of mind to pull the hand that was already worming its way beneath his boxers free and he gripped her shoulders. Her eyes were glazed with passion and her lips curved in a slow smile that nearly had him pulling her back into his embrace, but he resisted the temptation. 

“Not here,” he growled. A look of understanding flashed across her face and after pressing an all too brief kiss on his lips, she slipped off his lap with easy grace and took his hand. It was with a fatalistic sense of inevitability that Jack followed her through the silent house to her bedroom. That it had taken this long for their relationship to reach this point was nothing short of a miracle and even he could appreciate the irony that his ‘death’ had been the catalyst that propelled her into his arms.

Her bedroom was cool and dim and she released his hand, stopping by the neatly made bed. Compelled by the enormity of what they were about to do, Jack had to make one more attempt to understand. “Sam,” he rumbled, catching her hands as she reached for the buttons on his shirt.

“Don’t you want me?” she murmured. She wasn’t acting coy or teasing, in fact Jack didn’t think she’d ever asked him a more serious question. 

“God yes,” he groaned. He wouldn’t lie to her, he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, freeing her hands and cradling his face. Her eyes were tender and full of mystery. “It’s okay,” she whispered again, her hands trailing lightly down his arms and grasping his hands, pulling him slowly towards the bed. And because he desperately wanted to believe her, he followed her and ignored the quiet voice of his conscience that warned him that what they were about to do was anything but ‘okay’.

Her hands were gentle and very, very efficient but it still seemed to take an eternity until he was lying naked on crisp white sheets with Sam kneeling over him. Those very efficient and capable hands glided over him, stroking and caressing until he trembled beneath her touch. His hands felt almost too rough against her soft skin but he had to touch her; her low sighs and murmurs of pleasure reassuring him she returned his passion. 

Sam slipped down his body, her lips leaving a trail of moist caresses in the wake of her caressing hands before she once more rose up over him. Jack knew there would be no going back from this moment, everything would change…but maybe it was time. She balanced over him, one hand on his chest and the other guiding him to her. His hands glided up her strong thighs, her muscles rippling beneath his fingers, her body closing hotly around him.

In the years he’d known Sam, Jack had seen almost every emotion on her face, from fear to triumph, sadness to joy, but until now he had never seen passion. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she had never been more beautiful than she was at this moment, when she risked everything and took him into her body. She had said she loved him and he thought maybe he finally believed her. 

She moved fluidly over him and it was awkward at first, the usual unspoken connection he felt with her surprisingly absent in this, the most intimate of communication. He wanted it to be good for her, he wanted it to be the best she’d ever had and to that end, he forced himself to relax. Jack stopped trying and contented himself with watching her, mesmerized by her beauty and seduced by her subtle movements until he found himself moving instinctively with her and then with increasing confidence. 

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice husky, leaning forward and bracing her hands on his chest. Jack feathered his hands up her thighs and lightly grasped her waist, following her lead and moving in slow synchrony with her. His muscles trembled with the effort, but he resisted his body’s attempts to blindly seek fulfillment, confident that the restraint he exercised now would merely intensify her pleasure—and ultimately his. 

“Sam,” he murmured roughly, when her ragged breathing and desperate movements told him she was struggling. “Let me,” he whispered, slipping one hand deliberately across her belly and sliding his long fingers down to where they were joined. He watched her intently while he gently stroked through her soft folds, her soft gasp of pleasure all the confirmation he needed. Her eyes were dark pools of love and desire and Jack was drowning in their depths. 

But he held on while her body contracted insistently around him, pleasure rippling through her and relentlessly pulling him along in her wake. He continued to stroke her until she lay limply against him, only then withdrawing his hand, firmly gripping her hips and thrusting strongly against her. His eyes closed on the fantastic rush of pleasure when ecstasy, fierce and deep, exploded through him; his orgasm all the sweeter for his earlier restraint. He groaned and tightened his arms around her; she nuzzled his neck and he held her close, burying his face in her hair.

When Sam shifted and started to move, he reluctantly loosened his hold on her. She looked down at him, the sadness back in her eyes. “I love you.”

Something clenched in his heart and he reached up, caressing her cheek. “I know.” She smiled faintly, the shadows still in her eyes and when he couldn’t bear the sorrow he saw in them anymore, he pulled her back down into his arms—and she didn’t resist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam wondered if he was asleep when she finally extricated herself from his arms and slipped out of the bed. But she saw he wasn’t; he lay on his back and while he didn’t say anything, she could feel him watching her. His silence was unsettling after what had just happened between then, it had been a long week for her—maybe it had been just as long for him. Whatever…it didn’t matter, so she grabbed her discarded clothing off the floor and quietly closed the door behind her. 

She used the guest bathroom to clean up and dress before wandering into the kitchen and heating some water for tea. The microwave was efficient and she soon had a cup of orange spice tea. Taking a cautious sip, she decided to drink it in the living room, curling up on the sofa. The scotch still sat on the coffee table, along with her glass of melted ice cubes. She gazed blindly into the room and wondered if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

So, she’d told him and well, if she were honest, she would have to admit that she seduced him too. And while she really, truly believed that Jon had told her the truth, she wasn’t so sure the original O’Neill could, at least when it came to the reality of their relationship. And she wondered if she could go back now, to ignoring her feelings now that she had given them life and acted on them. They had done it before. She smiled wryly, of course a mere confession of caring was hardly comparable to what had just transpired in her bedroom. He cared for her, and she supposed that would continue to be enough.

“Hey.”

Jack’s low voice startled her and she looked up, mildly surprised that he had stayed and hadn’t taken the easy way out and just left. But he hadn’t—he stood in the doorway, dressed in his slacks, his shirt on, but unbuttoned, and barefoot—the reason she hadn’t heard him. “Hey,” she repeated. 

He took several cautious steps into the room, running his hand through his disheveled hair, making a slow turn around the room until Sam finally said, “Sit down, Jack.” And then she waited—more anxiously than she wanted to acknowledge—for him to sit; relief filling her when he settled on the opposite end of the sofa from her. He looked as uncertain as she felt, which was somewhat comforting, but didn’t ease the subtle tension vibrating in the room. 

“I didn’t expect to see so many people at the memorial service,” she finally said, breaking the silence that hovered between them. It wasn’t what she wanted to talk about, but ironically, it seemed the safer topic.

“He was a popular kid.”

“Were you?” she asked and then clarified when he look confused. “I mean, popular in high school?”

He shrugged. “I guess…maybe. I played hockey—like Jon.”

“Isn’t that a requirement for every boy in Minnesota?” 

He chuckled and she could see him relax. “Yeah, sure,” he drawled. “Along with curling.” She rolled her eyes and he grinned. “He was in the chess club too, you know.”

Sam smiled; she should have figured the younger version of Jack would like chess too. “So he was a jock and a nerd?”

Jack smiled and nodded. “We’d play sometimes, when I visited him in the hospital.”

Sam sighed softly, setting her mug down and wrapping her arms around her drawn up knees. “I didn’t find out he was in the hospital until right before he died.” She didn’t mean to make it an accusation, but it still sounded like one.

“Would it have made any difference if you’d known?”

“Yes…no…I don’t know,” she finally admitted. She glanced sideways at him. “He told me I think too much.”

“He was right.” 

“He called you a jerk.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Right again,” he agreed mildly. He looked directly at her then, his dark gaze intense. “He also told me something; that I should tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“That I love you.”

“Oh…,” she murmured, feeling the heaviness in her heart start to dissipate. It was probably the most casual declaration of love she had ever received, but it was also the one for which she had waited the longest. “Did he now?”

“Yeah, he was a pretty smart kid.” Jack’s smile was wry. “Way smarter than the original.”

Sam’s lips curved in a slight smile at his self-deprecating comment; the faintly beseeching look on his face mirrored on her own and she felt the subtle shifting in her priorities as everything that had happened slipped into place. 

“I’m hungry,” she announced, standing up and slowly stretching. She looked at him, pleased by the appreciative gleam that flared suddenly in his dark eyes. “How about a pizza?”

“Sounds good,” he agreed. 

“Pepperoni?” she asked, pausing by the door.

“And sausage,” he said, getting up from the sofa. “And those bread stick things,” he added, following her into the kitchen. “Got any beer?” he asked, looking hopeful with his hand on the refrigerator door.

“Yeah,” she said, pulling the phone book out of the drawer and flipping through the yellow pages. “Help yourself.” 

Sam could hear him rummaging through the refrigerator while she called Papa John’s and her lips curved in a tender smile; she knew everything was far from perfect but they had faced greater challenges and survived. Somehow she knew they would make it work. And she felt her eyes grow misty then, while she waited for the call to go through, she couldn’t think of a more fitting legacy for the boy whose wish for them had come true.

THE END


End file.
